More than Human
by Lalaith Quetzalli
Summary: (One-Shot) Sherlock is on a suicide mission in Eastern Europe, with no hope of making it back alive. When Mycroft's plans prove not to be enough, John gets involved. There's only one way to save his best friend/partner/match before it's too late, and for that he'll have to reveal just how inhuman he is. (Begins during exile) HLV Fix-it of sorts - Slash - Small crossover with AoS


I don't own Sherlock, or the MCU, or James Bond... I must also point out that the flashbacks shown in License to Kill, about John's past as MI6 is valid for this one too (for any story which mentions him having been an Intelligence Officer, really).

This time I have to say that while you don't necessarily need to have watched anything of Marvel, not even Agents of SHIELD (which is the piece of that fandom I used this time) it would definitely help. I also warned those who actually watch the series or are at least interested in doing so that there are some spoilers for that in this one, particularly regarding a few things from the season 2 finale.

I have no Beta and am certainly not British (Mexican, actually), so apologies for any mistakes.

* * *

 **More than Human**

" _I may be on the side of the angels... but don't think for one second that I am one of them." SH_

John smiled at the mother-and-son pair as they walked away from his little practice, the little kid looked over his shoulder once to wave goodbye. They, or at least the mother, was one of his less-than-normal patients, tinted sunglasses hid her changing eyes from those who might see her and consider her a freak, or worse.

The doctor was still standing there, considering the hour and whether he should return to his... to Mary's place. It was early evening, though still past the hour where the practice was supposed to have closed. His wife of course didn't know about the 'secret patients' he tended to every so often. Even when he'd first decided he loved her, the doctor hadn't been sure that it was a good idea to reveal something like that to her; after she shot his best friend he knew there was no way Mary, or whatever her true name might be, was finding out about them.

He was about to go back inside and pick up his things, already making plans to go for a walk before going to the house, when a black car conspicuously parking right in front of his door had him on full alert.

"Anthea...?" He asked, confused, when seeing the woman open the door, noticing that she didn't actually step out.

"Dr. Watson, it's an emergency, I need you to come with me right now." She said, sounding uncharacteristically flustered.

"What...?" He wasn't expecting that.

"It's about Sherlock." The PA added, for good measure.

She need not say anything else. With a signal for her to wait for a moment John rushed inside, turning off everything through the master switch (it would be a pain to turn the computers back on the next day, but as far as he was concerned it was worth it), before picking his coat, and the gun he always carried with him, then he was rushing back out and climbing into the car next to Mycroft's PA.

"What's wrong?" He asked the moment he got in. "What's happened to Sherlock?"

Yet to the former captain's eternal frustration, no response was forthcoming. Anthea only telling him that Mycroft was waiting for him.

The tension just spiked when he was lead to Mycroft's favorite warehouse to find not only the elder Holmes waiting for him there, but also Mary. His wife was there, though evidently not by her own free will, seeing how she was strapped to a chair, two fully armed guards behind her.

"Just what's going on Mycroft?" John demanded in her captain-tone.

"Why don't you ask Alicia here?" The politician practically hissed.

John noticed his supposed wife flinch only slightly, making it obvious he was talking about her. Though that still didn't explain what she had to do with anything.

"Alicia Gisele Reyna Addams." Mycroft began reading blankly from a file. "Born in some small country in Eastern Europe, moved to Russia at a young age, where she was orphaned a few years later. Was taken in by an organization that claimed to be dedicated to protecting young orphaned girls; it was but a cover to a program dedicated to turning said orphaned girls into spies, assassins and full-on femme fatales..."

"The Red Room..." John breathed out in shock. "The Black Widow Program... You're one of them." He made a pause before adding. "You're not really pregnant are you?"

Mary... Alicia didn't answer, just looking at John like she'd never seen him before. Mycroft himself needed to rearrange some of the things he knew (or thought he knew) about the doctor. He still didn't know how exactly John Watson knew about the Red Room or the Black Widows... and he'd said the title in plural, which meant he knew there was more to them than just the red haired Avenger woman...

"I heard talk of the Red Room a number of times during my first few tours in the army." John elaborated. "While I was in Serbia, Ukraine and the like... and I came across one of you, Yelena Belova, while in Afghanistan, she was with the Ten Rings..." He shook his head, pushing aside that line of thought. "We managed to take her prisoner once, she pretended to be pregnant so we would have special considerations... then used our compassion against us, killed nearly half a dozen soldiers before getting away. I was one of the few survivors of her escape, said she owed me one, because I treated her when she first arrived... She also warned me about believing every woman who claimed to be pregnant, said Black Widows were sterilized upon 'graduating' from the program, to make sure they would never become a liability..."

"And yet you believed me when I said it..." Alicia practically hissed.

"I had no reason to believe otherwise." John shrugged. "Sherlock saw it, and I trusted him, I've always trusted him more than I do myself... Though you have to admit, if I didn't find the mere thought of touching you so sickening... I would have realized it a long time ago. I suppose that's why you never complained so much about my 'staying angry'."

"It was convenient." The blonde woman shrugged.

"I wonder what you would have done if I'd actually forgiven you, gotten close..." John scoffed. "Would you have faked a miscarriage? Tried to make me feel it was my fault you lost the baby?"

Alicia didn't answer, though her look made it obvious that John's guess had been right.

"This is completely irrelevant." The former captain declared after a beat, turning to the eldest Holmes. "What's happened to Sherlock?"

Mycroft turned grim but began the lengthy explanation: He'd had a plan. Sherlock was never supposed to leave, or at least he wasn't supposed to get to Eastern Europe. If all had gone as the eldest Holmes planned it, a recording of James Moriarty taunting people about returning would have appeared in every single screen in London at the same time. Then the politician would have taken advantage of the resulting chaos and panic to get his brother's exile revoked, keeping the consulting detective chasing ghosts only long enough for Parliament to admit that London needed Sherlock Holmes and decide to exonerate him.

That plan failed, and yet it wasn't even his only plan. Even though at the time Mycroft hadn't known why it hadn't worked, he'd already had contingencies in place. There was a mercenary in the terrorist cell already, who was meant to keep an eye on Sherlock. Once they hit the six month mark, or he got the tip-off that his brother had been made (whichever happened first), the eldest Holmes would have cashed in a number of favors M and other MI6 Agents owed him to get them to prioritize the mission as well as make sure to rescue Sherlock.

That plan had been ruined with what had just happened that day. Earlier that day Mycroft had received an emergency message from the mercenary in his employ, the message was cut off in such a way there was no doubt the individual in question had been killed, and quite viciously too. Sherlock had been discovered, through no failure on his part... someone had tipped off the group to their mole... and that someone was Alicia.

John did not waste time or breath cursing, demanding explanations or anything else; instead he focused completely. Those looking at him could notice the moment he straightened further, adopting a pose none of them had ever seen him in. They were no longer dealing with the loyal and kind Dr. Watson, not even with the strict and brave Captain Watson... no, the one standing right then before them was another man entirely.

"What time frame are we talking about?" He asked in a strong, sharp tone.

He need not elaborate, it was quite obvious what he meant. How long did they have before Sherlock was dead for sure?

"Maybe twenty-four hours, as far as seventy-two if we're lucky." Mycroft answered stoically. "It depends on how hard and for how long they try to get answers out of my brother."

"How long it might take them to realize he's not giving them anything..." John finished for him with a sharp nodded. "I suppose you'll deal with her."

He didn't even look at the woman he'd once called his wife. As far as he was concerned, since Mary Morstan did not exist, all his vows to her were null and void. The one that did count was the vow he'd made to Sherlock. He might not have gone about it in such an elaborate (and quite romantic) manner as his dearest friend (his partner) but that did not make it any less valid. John Watson would always stand by Sherlock Holmes...

Mycroft made a motion for the men there to take Alicia away, she'd never be seen again. At some point things would come up, allowing people to believe a terrible accident had befallen Mrs. Watson, John would be considered a widower... no one else need know the truth.

The eldest Holmes, though, chose to focus on John, he had a feeling the man had an ace under his sleeve. For as long as the politician had known the former army captain he'd known there was something special about him. There had to be, for Sherlock to attach himself to the former army captain so quickly. And yet, even after their first meetings, even with the wit, the will, the trust issues and obvious loyalty... none of that had seemed enough in Mycroft's eyes. Even in that moment, after learning that John had been in contact with a Black Widow (or two), with the Ten Rings, and possibly others (because if he'd been in Afghanistan when the confrontations against the Ten Rings had taken place, he probably had been there for Tony Stark's kidnapping and all that followed too). That still did not explain the attitude he was taking in that moment. The Holmes was missing something, he knew that, and he didn't like it.

He caught up to John just outside the warehouse, where the doctor had stopped, he seemed to be fiddling with his phone.

"If you need a phone, Dr. Watson?" Mycroft offered, though not quite sure what could be so important when they were supposed to be focusing on his brother...

John raised a hand sharply to signal for the eldest Holmes to quiet and he did (though even he did not know for sure why). Belatedly the politician noticed that there was nothing wrong with the phone, not really, Watson had been activating something... a moment later a video-phone-call took over the screen. Because of the angle Mycroft couldn't really see who was on the other end of the call, and while he could tell the voice was female, he couldn't make out any accent, specific words or tones that might help give away a nationality, race or anything at all.

"Ma'am." John bowed his head at the screen respectfully.

"Doc..." The woman, young... responded, a hint of returned respect. "Is everything alright?"

"I... No, everything's not alright." A hint of true grief touched John's voice, just slightly. "Things have happened... it's kind of a long story. The bottom line is, I need help."

"What do you need Doc?" The woman sounded honestly interested.

"My f... my partner, he's been taken by a terrorist group." John summarized. "He was actually doing some undercover work, but a... there was a mole, he was betrayed, was found."

"What's the time-frame?" Her voice suddenly went all business.

"Anywhere from seventy-two to twenty-four hours from the moment he was made."

"Which means, for his own health, we should take the lower number as the likeliest and go from there." She seemed to be on the same frequency as the others. "Look Doc. I cannot speak for the others, much as they might insist I can. This... well..."

"I know, it's not the kind of work you do..."

"Well, on that front it's debatable. You care for this person, and it's our job to help people. You're one of ours, one of mine, which means so is he..."

"He's not, he..."

"Details are irrelevant. In any case, I cannot speak for the others, but I will be there, and whoever is willing as well. You still in London?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Very well. We shall be in the air in the next hour, which means we can probably be there in six. Be ready to go. We'll just pick you up and move on. Also, have anything you have related to your partner and that mission he was on. If you can think of an effective way to track them all the better..." She made a pause before adding. "So, I'll see you there in six then."

"I shall be waiting. Thank you ma'am."

"Thank me when we've gotten your partner back."

And with that, the call cut off.

"Just to whom did you give top-secret information about my brother, Dr. Watson?" Mycroft demanded before John could even put away the phone.

"Don't flip out on me, Mycroft." John began.

The Holmes blinked at the incredibly American expression, but didn't comment on it.

"I used an encrypted line, which is only useful for dialing that number, but anyway." The blonde half-shrugged. "You're the one who said time was short. Regardless of how many favors M, or anyone else might owe you, they won't be ready in time..."

"How do you...?" Mycroft interrupted, unable to fully hide his shock as he understood. "It cannot be... you're MI6?!"

"I was, years ago." John shrugged again. "I was let go for insubordination... it's a really long story and not relevant right now. The point is, I called the one person who has the resources and I knew would be willing to help me rescue Sherlock."

"She said she couldn't speak for others."

"So she keeps saying, but that doesn't change reality. There are those who would walk to the ends of this world for her if she were just to ask... of course, she never will." He shook his head briefly. "I'm sure at least a few will manage to convince her to tag along, and even if she didn't..." The doctor cut himself off. "I know you probably won't, but try and trust me Mycroft. We will find Sherlock, we will bring him back."

The eldest Holmes didn't, not really, it went against his every instinct to trust anyone else with the welfare of his little brother. And while usually he would trust John to help him, that was until he realized how much about John Watson he'd missed. And yet, regardless of all of that, in that moment he didn't really have much of an option. John was effectively Sherlock's only hope. So Mycroft would go along with it, but if the doctor didn't deliver, there would be hell to pay. There still might, just for what had already happened.

 **xXx**

It was a little past one in the morning when John found himself standing on the edge of a private airstrip in the outskirts of London. He hadn't slept at all after the meeting in the warehouse and the late phone-call. Instead he'd spent the time getting himself ready. He was wearing what he'd that passed for mission clothes, his side-arm tucked in the back of his trousers; there was also an army knife in his boot. He knew they'd probably give him something better once they were on their way, but still.

He wasn't alone. Mycroft had insisted on being around, claimed he wanted to meet the woman John had talked to. Of course Anthea too was there, John had a bad feeling. Which was confirmed just a few minutes later. The aircraft landed as expected. It was completely black, with nothing on it that may help anyone identify it. John wondered if Mycroft knew that only one organization in the whole world had aircraft like those... there had been two, technically, at one point. But the number had gone back down to one since.

John turned out to be right, of course. No one stepped off the plane, but when John got on board, Anthea followed him.

"This really isn't a good idea..." John muttered, but didn't try to stop her.

"Hey Doc!" A dark-blonde haired, electric-blue eyed man in his late twenties called brightly, until he noticed the PA. "Who's this?"

He wasn't the only one who tensed up either.

"It's okay Shock." A brunette with chocolate eyes. "I was already expecting something like this." She turned to the two British. "Hey Doc, I know you purposefully did not say your partner's name, but it's not like we didn't know already. I also expected a move like this from Mycroft Holmes." She focused fully on the PA. "I imagine you have experience?"

"I was MI5 before Mr. Holmes recruited me to be his PA." Anthea shrugged.

"Very well." The younger woman stated. "Then lets make the ground rules quite clear: I am Commander here. That's what you'll call me."

"You are SHIELD." Anthea blurted out uncharacteristically, distracted by the symbol that had flashed briefly over a nearby screen.

"No." The Commander snapped, calling the PA's attention back fully. "No, we're not SHIELD. You need to understand a few things Miss. First of all, we're not here because of an organization, for any duty or favor owed. Doc is one of our own, he's said his partner needs help, and so, here we are. We help our own."

"John..." Anthea began.

"Doc." The Commander corrected. "That's one of the rules. While on missions, its codenames only. I am Commander, he's Doc." She pointed to the dark-blonde. "He's Shock." The auburn-haired, green-eyed woman. "Replica." a brunette, blue-eyed man in his early-fifties. "Captain." a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman of Chinese ascendance. "And the Cavalry."

"I am Anthea." The PA decided to use the false-name John already knew, before focusing on something else. "This is it? This is all of you? You are doing a mission against a terrorist cell with only six people?"

"Seven, if you're coming." The Commander pointed out. "And yes. This is an extraction mission primarily. It works better if we work in small numbers. In fact, Captain, Shock, Doc and I, and you if you wish, are the ones going in; Replica and Cavalry will work on the outside of the base, wherever it happens to be..." She focused on John. "You have something for me?"

"This is everything Mr... my employer had on the terrorist cell in Eastern Europe, including the recording of the last call his mercenary contact made, the day we were betrayed." Anthea announced, passing them a thumb-drive.

"And you have this betrayer in custody?" The Cavalry asked, curious.

"It's been dealt with." Was all Anthea said.

It was enough, all of them had been doing what they did long enough to know what such words really meant in their line of work.

"Very well." The Commander nodded, passing the thumb-drive over to Shock to look it over. "We shall go through this on the way... though we first need to know where."

"My dog-tags." Doc. said in a whisper, pulling the chain out from behind the collar of his shirt for good measure. "I gave S... Him the other one before he left for Eastern Europe. You can track him through that, right?"

"It should be easy enough." The Commander declared. "Cavalry, wheels up in five."

"Where to?" The Cavalry, who was evidently also the pilot, questioned.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do." The younger woman replied as she began typing at nearly vertiginous speeds on a tablet.

"Military GPS?" Anthea asked Doc, who nodded. "I'm sure if we call M... the boss he will be able to give us access to..."

"Got it!" The Commander called right then, before calling a set of coordinates.

"Everyone take a seat and hold on." Cavalry announced. "Wheels up now!"

Anthea barely had time to snap her seat-belt before they were rising again. It took a few minutes, but soon they were stable in the air and no longer shaking, which seemed to be the signal for everyone to release themselves from the seat-belts and get moving doing... whatever.

"We didn't finish talking about the ground rules earlier, so I'll be quick about it." Commander stated, standing right before Anthea. "Like I said before, here I call the shots. If you don't like an order, you may say so, may even point out why you think it's a bad idea... as long as we're not in the active part of an operation. Because when we're inside that enemy base, canvasing the place to find Doc's partner I need to know that if I tell you to get down you'll do so, same if I tell you to run, to turn around, or anything else."

Anthea nodded, that one was fairly logical. Though he hoped the Commander understood there was a limit to that obedience, she was there to save Sherlock Holmes, after all.

"I know what you're here for, and I can tell you that's why we're all here." Commander went on. "There's no conflict of interest whatsoever."

Anthea nodded again, willing to believe that to a point.

"The next is less of a rule and more of a fact you need to understand." The young woman went on. "We effectively don't exist..."

"If this is like that speech about there being no records of black ops, about your country denying your existence and all that..." Anthea began.

"No, this goes beyond all that." Commander stated, absolutely serious. "For as long as we're on a mission, we do not exist, at all. And right now that includes you."

Anthea couldn't help but wonder how truthful that was. Just the day before she'd have said it was impossible to make half a dozen people disappear... however, that was before that woman, the Commander, had hacked a military database in order to find the GPS tracker in one of their dog-tags. She might even be complaining if it hadn't been so convenient. Yet the fact remained, if she could hack a military database that easily, what else could she do?

Anthea had no idea, not at all, she would eventually be finding out...

 **xXx**

They made it to the coordinates as fast as they could (which was considerably faster than Anthea had believed possible). By then both she and John were wearing tactical suits, several weapons on each (John's suit was his own, while Anthea was wearing one of Replica's spares, as their sizes were similar enough).

"Very well, Replica, the perimeter is yours. Cavalry, you're to stay with the jet and in comms in case we need to make an emergency exit." Commander ordered. "The rest of us are going in. Remember, the priority is to recover the hostage and get out. We're not here to deal justice. This is purely an extraction. So, no taking unnecessary risks."

Anthea's mouth almost opened in disbelief when learning that not only were there only seven of them along for that mission, but two weren't really going in. At the same time she couldn't understand how a leader could assign a single person to handle the perimeter. Then she noticed that no one was commenting on that; in fact, everyone else was already moving; comms slipped in, with the Chinese woman, Cavalry, sitting behind the computer and on full alert; Replica was long gone, managing to disappear among the rocks and brush. The tactical suits were an ashen gray color that seemed to change hue a bit to adapt to its surroundings, it, along with the variety of weapons (guns, a number of blades in different sizes and she was even given several small grenades) was definitely state of the art, make the PA wonder who had designed most of them, they were not the kind of guns one could find commercially, not even army-issue.

"Should I take point boss, or will you?" Shock asked as they reached the entrance to what looked half like a dilapidated warehouse, half like a cave-system.

"You do it, Anthea and Doc will follow you, then Captain and I'll take tail." Commander decided after contemplating the matter for a handful of seconds. "If things go off and I end up taking the whole place down around our ears I rather that happen behind us, not in front of us."

As they walked as stealthily as they could through the facility, Anthea couldn't help but notice several things: like Doc's and Captain's military posture (it was obvious that both of them had been in the army at some point); Shock wasn't as stoic, but still on alert, like someone who'd been through hard times and was forced to learn to be wary; Commander herself looked the most off-guard, though what Anthea noticed most was how she kept touching the walls, almost like some kind of nervous tick...

It wasn't until they were standing before a reinforced iron door (which Shock immediately began working on getting open) that it occurred to Anthea to wonder how exactly the decision had been made on which corners to turn one way or the other. She was obviously missing something, and much like her boss, she didn't like it.

And then the lock clicked and the door swung open. It wasn't just any room, it was a cell, and right there, in a cot in a corner, laid Sherlock.

"Oh my god..." Anthea couldn't hold back the gasp.

Sherlock was very badly hurt, the signs of torture were obvious to anyone who looked at him, he was also at least half-unconscious. The PA was about to drop to her knees beside him when a sharp voice froze her.

"Doc, Shock, pick him up." Commander ordered strongly. "We need to get moving. We're about to get company!"

Anthea was about to ask what make her say that, she couldn't hear a thing; but the men didn't stop to question the order, just leaned down and pulled Sherlock half onto his feet in between them, before practically dragging him out of the cell, the other three immediately taking formation around them; Captain and Anthea with guns in hand, while Commander practically dragged her hand across the walls even as she moved.

They changed course abruptly several times, with Anthea half hearing their leader whisper 'not there', 'not down there', 'they're here'... it's was like she knew where the enemies were, before any of them could hear them, and the PA hadn't the slightest idea how.

And then, the unexpected, they got to a dead-end... well, not quite, it was another reinforced-steel door, heavily locked. Anthea was about to suggest they turn back when even she began hearing the echo of approaching boots, and weapons.

"Shock!" Commander called, voice going a little high. "I need you to open this. It's too tight, if I try I might end up bringing the place down on our heads."

The PA had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but there wasn't much time to think about it. Shock let go of Sherlock after making sure Doc had him, then hurried to the front of the room. And then, the real surprise, as a spark seemed to appear in his hand, quickly turning into what almost looked like a lightning bolt, which went straight into the door's lock. It was fried and after a hard kick from him, the door opened abruptly.

No one was expecting the man on the other side.

Commander did something that made the rifle the man was holding useless; however, that wasn't enough to stop him in the end. He somehow managed to get hold of a heavy tool of some kind and was swinging it faster than any of them could react. Commander extended both hands, as if to stop him somehow; the motion slowed down somewhat, for whatever the reason, but didn't stop completely, managing to clip Shock on the temple hard enough to knock him down and out, blood falling down the side of his head.

"Lincoln!" Commander cried out, for a moment losing all composure.

Anthea saw her move against the man who'd injured her team-mate but couldn't focus much on that, as Captain distracted her.

"How good a shot are you?" He asked her, even as he knelt beside Shock and checked him over.

"Very good." Anthea answered, choosing honesty over humility.

"I hope so, for all our sakes." Captain stated seriously as he took hold of Shock, pulling him over his back in a fireman carry. "With Doc carrying his partner, and me holding Shock, you and Commander are effectively the only defense we have right now."

"Your other teammates?" Anthea offered.

She was good but there was no way two people could ever protect themselves and other four, not against a base full of terrorists.

"Commander..." Captain called, and when that failed to work, he switched. "Skye!"

That seemed to be enough to somehow make the leader (and how exactly was the evidently youngest of all of them, the leader? What made her so special?) focus again.

"We need to get out of here, now!" Captain told her. "Shock is alright, he's just knocked out. Will probably have a concussion, but he'll be alright. Doc's partner will also need to be treated. We need to get out of this place, now."

"Ok." Commander, Skye, nodded slowly, pressing her hand briefly to the ground and closing her eyes, as if to focus, before standing and beginning to walk. "This way."

It was insane to think that she actually knew where to go; but having already followed that far, Anthea decided there was little else to do but continue doing the same. So, holding a gun in each hand, and with senses on full alert, she did exactly that.

It took several minutes and a lot of turns that seemed to have no rhyme or reason, when finally they stepped into the open... except they weren't outside, not really. As Anthea soon discovered, they had actually ended in a sort of inner-garden of the property... or what might have once been a garden, when people lived in that complex who actually cared for those things; all that was there in that moment were empty pots, dried plants and dirt.

"What now?" Anthea asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

She could hear the raging footsteps of the dozens (possibly more) terrorists going their way.

"The quinjet will be on our exact location in a couple of minutes." Captain stated, having called their pilot already.

"Will we even last a couple of minutes?" Anthea couldn't help but ask.

"We will." Doc nodded confidently.

The PA couldn't help but notice his eyes her straight on the Commander, Skye, and it was until then that Anthea truly realized how young she must be, mid-twenties... just how had she ended as Commander of a black ops team?!

"What do we do now?" She repeated.

"Now, we brace ourselves." Doc said quietly, at the same time he crouched down, bringing Sherlock down with him.

She soon noticed Captain doing the same, still holding Shock, and couldn't help but follow their lead, all the while wondering what exactly they could be planning.

It was nothing she could have ever expected, ever imagined even possible. From the start Anthea had noticed that while every member of the team wore the same gray tactical-suits; each had variations, probably catering to their specialties. Still, she hadn't paid them that much attention. In that moment, as she saw Commander standing (she was the only one still up), feet shoulder-width apart and hands extended before her, Anthea couldn't help but notice the finger-less gloves she was wearing, particularly when she took them off rather precisely, pushing them carelessly into a pocket on her side.

The British woman was still wondering what difference could something like that possibly make, when she felt it: the vibrations. At first she thought it was her, began to wonder if she could have lost so much control over her own body that she was actually shaking with fear, then dismissed it as completely ridiculous. Right on time to realize that it wasn't her, but the ground beneath her. The vibrations weren't actually that strong, just enough to be noticed... though what was even more noticeable was the way the walls and the columns leading to the entrances into the property were shaking, dirt falling off them.

The terrorists arrived right then. Several shots could be heard and Anthea belatedly realized she'd dropped her guard. A stupid decision, one that would get her killed... except not a single bullet touched her, they didn't even get close to her, to any of them. It was like the bullets hit some kind of invisible barrier and crumbled upon themselves. And then it truly began. The vibrations on the ground didn't get any worse, but on the walls? They crumbled down.

In a matter of seconds the whole place was collapsing, right on their heads.

"Wha... How...?" She wasn't even sure how to word the question.

Doc didn't answer her, Sherlock, who'd woken up at some point, was just looking at the scene with half-awareness (just enough to show interest), Captain only had eyes for their Commander. The woman who was still standing, arms carefully extended before her... Anthea could almost think she was somehow responsible for it all.

Her mind was distracted from that line of thought when the sound of a motor filled her ears. The jet was above them. A ladder was thrown down, along with a harness. Captain secured Shock in before quickly going up the ladder, probably to actually pull the man up, since Cavalry was probably busy piloting the plane. The harness came back down soon enough, and once Sherlock was in it, she found Doc pushing her to the ladder, following right behind her, with the Commander being the last.

Replica was actually up already, helping pull the harness up. It actually took Anthea a couple of seconds to realize there were somehow two of her...

She turned around to try and clear her mind (in case she was hallucinating) and it was right on time to see Commander actually wave her hand, just off the edge of the open hatch of the jet; what little of the terrorist hideout still stood, shook violently and collapsed soon enough. Not a single stone was left standing.

"You did that..." Anthea blurted out in absolute shock. "How...?"

 **xXx**

Anthea didn't get an answer then, and not for a long while. They flew for an hour or two before landing. It took no time for the PA to realize they weren't back in London.

"Where are we?" She asked. "And why are we here?"

"We're in a safe-house in Switzerland." Captain told her calmly. "As for why we're here. We need to treat both Shock and Doc's partner, and Doc prefers to do so with both feet on the ground, says he gets airsick otherwise." He shrugged. "Also, the news of what just went down in that terrorist hideout will probably be hitting international news about now, we need to be ready to deal with that. Keep any eyes off us."

"Right now the main belief is that either there was a freak earthquake, or they were working on something that blew up in their faces." Commander announced, walking by them, clicking on the tablet even as she went. "Once the rescue groups realize they're terrorists, the second theory will get in the lead. We need to make sure it stays that way."

"Which means we need to be in the comms room by the time the calls come in." Captain nodded as he went ahead.

"But you did a good thing." Anthea murmured, half-confused. "Why not let people know that?"

"You're not normally this naive, Anna..." Sherlock hissed, speech slurred as Doc half carried him beside them. "They didn't have the country's authorization to go in, and even if they had, it's not like it's their job to deal with low-level terrorists."

"Crude, but true." Commander nodded with a half-shrug. "We went into this because it was personal. But for the most part, terrorists aren't our thing... unless they get their hands on some alien tech, enhanced individuals, or anything of the like."

"So you really are SHIELD!" Anthea breathed out.

"It depends on the day of the week." Commander quipped. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to hurry, the boss will probably want me there for the call."

"Boss?" Once again the British woman felt thrown for the loop.

"Captain, he's actually Director Coulson." Cavalry stated. "And I hope you realize how much we are trusting you, revealing our true names. Then again, I guess you've already seen other things today so..." She let out a breath. "You may call me Agent Melinda May."

"If he's the Director, why is she Commander?" Anthea inquired, confused.

"Skye is Commander, for lack of a better title." May told her. "She leads a top-secret team of gifted individuals, two of whom you've seen..."

"Shock and Replica." The PA nodded, beginning to understand.

"Exactly." May nodded. "You will know their names if they give them to you, otherwise its code-names only. It's how we keep them safe. Since Doc... Dr. Watson called for Skye's help it was decided to have her lead. However, Coulson and I weren't about to let her go into something like that with just the other two as back-up, and offered to help. She was still the leader though."

"But why her?" Anthea insisted." When she's so obviously the youngest."

"You've gotten but a taste of what Skye is capable of, that should tell you something." May stated quietly. "Aside from that... you have no idea what that girl has gone through. She might be young in years, but she's been through so much... she's more than earned her place both as Commander of a black ops team, and SHIELD's second in command."

That one was more of an unofficial title, but May decided Anthea didn't need to know that.

"I'm Anna." The woman stated after a very long silence, deciding it was only right to be truthful to the people who were putting so much trust on her. "Anna Kemp-Holmes."

May's eyes sparkled with a light that meant she understood what the double surname meant, but didn't say a thing, just gave Anna directions to where she could find John and Sherlock.

She entered a state of the art infirmary. Shock was on a gurney, an IV with fluids already in place, his neck and head had been cleaned, wound stitched and bandaged; though there were still some blood stains on his shirt (and his jacket, on a chair) and he was unconscious.

"He definitely has a concussion, which means I'll have to wake him up every so often in the course of the next day, but aside from that he'll be fine." John announced, noticing Anna was looking at him. "I was relieved to be able to tell Skye that. She would have been devastated if something truly awful had happened."

"What about Sherlock?" The PA asked, turning eyes to the man on the other gurney, they went wide in an instant. "He needs a hospital!"

"No, he doesn't." John refused, as he set a few tools on a table. "Not really. And even then, how could we justify bringing him in?"

Anna was about to argue, but then she noticed John had a plan. He'd just finished cutting off Sherlock's ruined clothes, leaving him only in his pants.

"If you want to be helpful you can help me clean him up." The doctor announced, offering her a rag and signaling to a bowl of warm water.

Anna didn't say a word, just took off her jacket (which left her in a sleeveless top and her tactical pants and boots; and then began working on cleaning Sherlock's skin.

"He's bleeding again!" She called after cleaning a particularly deep cut on his flank.

"Be right there." John stated, sounding just a bit breathless.

Anna raised her head, and noticed something she'd somehow missed in the time they'd been working together. John didn't have any tools in hand, he was instead touching Sherlock with his bare hands, fingers tracing cuts and deep bruises almost carefully. The shocking part, however, was that wherever his fingers touched, the wounds disappeared. John Watson was healing Sherlock Holmes by touch alone.

"You're one of them too!" Anna breathed out in shock.

"If you're going to have a negative reaction, you can get out of the infirmary now, I'll have someone else help me, otherwise..." The sentence was left open, but there was no need to guess what he'd really meant.

Anna didn't say a word, she just washed off the rag in the pinking water of the bowl and got back to work. There was a lot to do yet.

By the time they were done John was swaying, had to be helped into a third gurney by Anna herself. He'd put all he was, all he had, into healing as much of Sherlock as he could; and he'd somehow managed to heal all but the lightest bruises and scrapes, which the PA thought was an absolute miracle.

So, after putting John to sleep, making sure he and Sherlock were close enough the other would be the first thing each saw upon waking (because she could only imagine the kind of mess they would do if they were to wake up and not see each other), she began walking around the base. She passed a room where Director Coulson, Commander Skye and Agent May were talking to a screen, some kind of video-call, and Anna thought she recognized the voice of the head of the International Criminal Court...

That reminded her of calling her own boss. As expected, Mycroft Holmes had been beyond anxious (Anna had actually never heard him that on-edge). He didn't like it when he heard they weren't going back right away, but agreed when she told him it'd been important to treat the injured, Sherlock included, first. She also very carefully left any real names, as well as the gifts out of her 'report'. All those people had trusted her enough to tell her things they obviously didn't want anyone else to know... and it wasn't like Mycroft needed to know. He accepted Anna even without knowing everything she'd done while in the service, he could deal with not knowing how exactly his brother was rescued too.

Eventually she made it to what look like a gym. The auburn-haired, green-eyed Replica was standing in the middle of some mats, wearing dark-jeans and a dark-gray top, an off-white jacket thrown to a side, and she was going through some katas.

"You're Replica, right?" Anna wanted to confirm.

The redhead looked at the PA up and down for several seconds, as if making up her mind about something, before talking:

"I suppose since you already know everyone else's names there's no point to try and be secretive about mine." She shrugged. "I'm Alisha."

"Anna." The PA replied, offering her hand to shake. "If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you handle perimeter on your own?"

Alisha smirked almost wolfishly at that.

"Like this." She answered after a moment, and suddenly there were two, then three of her. "I'm never alone, not really. It's why they call me Replica. Because I can create duplicates of myself."

"You're gifted too..." Anna breathed out. "Like Skye, and John and Sh... Lincoln, I think that was his name."

"Yes, all of us." Alisha nodded.

"If you don't mind my asking." Anna began, hesitantly. "What are you?"

"We're much like you." Alisha answered, not taking offense to the question. "Humans except for one detail that cannot even be seen most of the time. Most of us have lives out of these missions, you know? Lincoln is a doctor, works in free-clinics in rural zones whenever not on a mission, I am attending college in Canada, only take missions when they might need heavy numbers. Dr. Watson... well, I'm sure you know where he spends most of the time. He doesn't join us on missions, but sometimes we go to him, when we have something Lincoln can't handle, or he's gotten hurt too. As you may probably understand, there are so few doctors we can trust..." She let out a breath. "But going back to the point of your question. They, our ancestors, many, many years and generations ago, gave themselves, and us, the name Inhumans. I don't know why. I know there's some great story about our origins, what others intended for us to be and how we sprung free of that and made our own lives. But that's not the point. In the end, we're very close to human. In fact, most of us go through our whole lives like one of you. Only a few of us in each generation get our gifts activated, and even then there are some who chose to live normal lives, without anything that may reveal there's anything different about them."

"Yet some of you choose differently."

"I'm not quite sure I like it yet. Working with the government... it goes against my instincts, and not just mine either. But Skye did us a great favor almost two years ago, saved us from a woman who was leading us to our own destruction... we owe it to her to help where we can."

Anna had no response to that. May had told her that, despite her youth, Skye had been through a lot, more than she could imagine, she was obviously right.

"So, I'm still a bit high on adrenaline and it's taking longer than I would like to get down." The PA stated in a complete non sequitur. "Mind going some rounds with me?"

Alisha actually smiled, her doubles disappearing as she dropped into a stance.

"I would be delighted." She answered, before throwing herself into the fight.

 **xXx**

When John Watson woke up, it was to Sherlock's blue-green eyes with golden flecks staring straight at him from his own gurney. A single look and John knew that his friend would have gotten off the bed if he could, but even with all the healing his body wasn't ready for anything just yet; also, the IV that carried fluids and a bag full of antibiotics, along with the other one which had helped with the blood transfusions, and the oxygen tubes (they'd only been necessary until John fixed his broken ribs and collapsed lung, but still) might have been a problem.

Sherlock opened his mouth, tried to speak, but only a raspy groan came out. That finally made John get on his feet, and he swayed. He'd been asleep for god-knows-how-long, and he was still tired, he'd over-exerted himself to make sure Sherlock would heal right and as fast as possible. He'd taken weeks, possibly months out of his best friend's recovery time, and it'd barely been enough. It was quite likely that, had they truly taken him to a hospital, nothing they could have done would have been enough. The consulting detective had been too hurt by that point, simply too far gone.

Still, John managed to push aside the vertigo and the exhaustion just enough to walk to the small fridge in a corner of the infirmary. It was half-filled with refrigerated medicines; the other half consisted of energy-drinks (he took one), and a few cups filled with small ice-chips. He took one of those too and began feeding them to Sherlock until his throat was no longer raspy.

"You saved my life." The detective whispered, voice rough not by pain but by sentiment (much as he might deny it).

"I did what was necessary." John answered with a light shrug. "You needed to be safe. Nothing else was an option."

He shut up then, realizing he'd probably said more than was strictly necessary.

"Anna came to see me earlier." Sherlock stated. "While you were still asleep. Told me what's happened since I left London. Everything my brother did, all the ways he failed..."

"It wasn't his fault!" John wasn't sure why he defended Mycroft exactly, he just did.

"I know." Sherlock nodded, more slowly that time. "She told me about that too. About M... AGRA, and what she did."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, so sorry..." John gasped suddenly, tears falling down his face. "If I'd only known... I swear I would have never..."

"You didn't know." Sherlock said, in an odd, soothing tone, as he slowly, carefully, ran a hand through John's hair. "None of us did. Not even Mycroft and I, and we're supposed to be geniuses. He's supposed to be the British Government!"

They both chuckled quietly, a hint of hysteria in their voices.

"You saved me." The consulting detective repeated. "You were there when I needed someone. When no one else could do anything at all... when I was beyond hope. You saved my life."

John looked down at his own hand, before purposefully running it down a thin cut on Sherlock's forearm (it'd been one of the worst injuries, and he'd only managed to heal it enough to make sure his friend wouldn't lose his arm). The doctor was still tired, but it was just a small cut, and a part of him felt Sherlock needed to see it, deserved to. To know all the truth about John, everything the blonde hadn't dared say before.

"That was amazing." Sherlock breathed out, a hint of almost childish-glee in his voice.

"You think so?" John asked, half in shock at the words being used, half lost in an old memory. Their words were off, their dialogues reversed, but it was practically the same.

"Of course it was." Sherlock seemed to have noticed too, as he quoted John's dialogue from one of their first conversations, word for word. "It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say..." John replied dutifully, a hint of dismay in his voice.

"What do people normally say?"

"I..." John went completely off-script to answer sincerely. "Freak, monster... Inhuman..."

"That's wrong, that's so very very wrong... Whoever said that are ignorant, nothing more that ignorant, stupid..."

"They fear what they cannot understand, that's perfectly reasonable."

"You're not a monster John!"

"No, I'm not but... I'm not human either, Sherlock, not really."

"Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean you're less. You could never be less! It's simply impossible! You're more John, so much more..."

They kissed then, before they fully realized what was going on. They didn't know who started, if John leaned or Sherlock pulled him down. It didn't matter either. They were there, they were alive and together... everything else was absolutely irrelevant.

* * *

I just like BAMF John so much! And I loved the idea of turning that particular dialogue around in the end. Hope you liked it too. This is another piece that could have had more, maybe, but my muse didn't make up her mind so...

Warning, of sorts, next week piece is yet another MCU crossover (the last one) and this time you will need to have watched some of the movies (or, at the very least, know what they're about), specifically Iron Man 1 and 2 and Avengers (more the latter than the former 2). There's another thing but I'll hold that surprise for next week.

Hope you liked this, and will enjoy what's to come. Please don't forget to comment. See ya!


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